


Crystal and Burgundy

by indulging_inaccuracy



Series: One Summer More [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 13:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10595307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indulging_inaccuracy/pseuds/indulging_inaccuracy
Summary: Lilia Baranovskaya was not a sentimental person.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you V for editing, and for advising me on how much wine was a reasonable amount for various purposes. And to Tobie: I still have that bottle of cat wine. We should drink it someday.

Lilia Baranovskaya was not a sentimental person.  

She could be worldly, and her lavish home was a reflection of such, but she made it a point to not keep permanent attachment to ideas, things, or memories.  Photographs could be lost, stemware could break.  Items were replaceable and philosophies should be malleable.  

So, as she supervised Yuri moving his possessions from her dwellings, it was a genuine surprise to her when the boy emerged from her storage space with a small box labeled simply, "Letters."

"This was behind my stuff," he said, examining the stained cardboard with suspicion.  "Is it important?"

"No," came her immediate, dismissive reply.  "It's not."  

Lilia thought she had burned it and its contents ages ago, back when simply knowing of its existence pained her.  Now she felt nothing as she lifted the box from Yuri's hands, only mild disgust at how much dust had it had accumulated since she last saw it.

But rather than head down the hall toward the kitchen trash, she cut a path for her study instead, setting the box on her desk and telling herself she'd dispose of it after Yuri and Yakov had finished moving out.  Later she had some documents to read and sign, and the box was moved to a drawer so there was room to work.

\---

The following May, Yuri invited Lilia and Yakov to his apartment for tea and homemade pastries.  It was far from the first time he had cooked for the coaches, nor was it the first time either had visited him since they stopped living together.  But Yuri’s apartment was suspiciously clean, and the boxes that had remained unpacked for months had been dealt with at some point recently.

“Well?”  Lilia demanded once they had all moved on to their second cups.  “What is it you wanted to ask?”

Yakov stared at her as if she had sprouted wings on her head, but Yuri wasted no time in jumping to the point.  “I need to take a week off from practice at the end of June.”

“Absolutely not,” countered Yakov, right as Lilia inquired, “For what purpose?”

“Otabek’s visiting for a week, and he’s staying here.”  That explained the revitalized state of his apartment.  “I should be a good host for him.  He didn’t get to see any of the events during the White Nights last time he was in Russia,” Yuri elaborated.  For over a month around the solstice, Saint Petersburg took full advantage of how the sky never truly darkened at the height of summer.

Yakov made few concessions for any holiday though, and opened his mouth to protest again.  Lilia’s under-the-table kick was aimed well.  Her indoor shoes were soft, but the impact still smarted.

“On one condition,” Lilia specified.  “If  you come back and I find you’ve dulled in the slightest, you’ll do double ballet lessons until you meet my standards of satisfaction again.”

Yuri smirked.  “I’ll take them even if I’m in good form.”

“Then do as you like,” concluded Lilia.  Both of them sipped their tea in unison and even Yakov could tell that particular topic was settled, for now.  It wasn’t until they left and he was no longer outnumbered that he pressed the subject again.

“Lilia!”

“What is it?” she demanded, turning swiftly to face her ex-husband.  He physically balked a little on instinct, but was insistent on not taking their disregard lying down.

“It’s the end of the season, but be reasonable!” urged Yakov.  “Yuri’s already leaving for three weeks in the summer to play around with those two fools in Japan!  This year was one of his worst but he’s finally adjusting to his height!  His career is on the verge of revolution!   _He doesn’t have time for this!”_

 _“Enough.”_  Unlike Yakov, Lilia could enforce her will without relying on volume.  “The boy is stubborn, reckless, and hopelessly in love, but he is no fool.  Victor swore he would oversee Yuri’s training in Hasetsu, and while that man is a whimsical simpleton he is skilled, and he is effective.  Let Yuri have his week, God so help me, God so help _you.”_  She whirled on one heel and strode down the street once more.

It was meant as a conversation-killer, but clearly Yakov didn’t interpret it as such.  Lilia let him close the gap between them this time so that when she turned again, he was forced to take a stumbling half-step to avoid a collision.

“Yakov Feltsman,” she whispered, bringing her face within just a hand’s breadth of his, “In case I didn’t make myself clear, I will explain in terms you can understand: ruin this for him, and our divorce will be a playground scuffle compared to the hell you bring upon yourself."

That was the final nail in the proverbial coffin.  He didn’t attempt to follow Lilia again, and when she turned around at the end of the block, he was gone.

But as she hailed a cab, a certain part of their conversation (or several parts, really) reminded Lilia of something back at home: that small, stained cardboard box hidden away in her study.

\---

People in chaotic periods in their lives are apt to make extravagant impulse purchases, such as cars, or expensive watches, or entertainment systems far greater than what their media consumption should require.  

When Lilia had her divorce finalized, she called up a friend in Burgundy with a request.  The greater half of her honeymoon had been spent in the region, enjoying the countryside and touring vineyards.  Lilia remembered well, and so would Yakov.  So, after settling on price and the finer points of storage and delivery, that friend agreed to set aside a case of pinot noir from the current year’s production run.

On what would have been their fifteenth anniversary, a bottle had been directly couriered to Yakov, along with an elegant pair of crystal glasses.  Years later it turned out to be a fine vintage, and she _almost_ regretted having less of it for herself.  But while there were many great wines in the world, opportunities for such poetic acts should never be overlooked.

She only opened bottles on private, truly special occasions, and the summer solstice that year seemed to be as good a time as any.  Yuri was busy embarking on his fledgling journey into the world of romance, and any other commitments Lilia had the next day weren’t until later in the afternoon.

It was rare for her to stay up late these days, but she waited until a bit before ten o’clock to crack the wax seal and hunt down a corkscrew.  By the time twilight proper came around she was seated in front of her smoldering fireplace with a properly poured glass.  The box Yuri had excavated a year prior lay on the side table, opened to reveal the letters inside.

They were love letters, ones Lilia had received long ago from a male figure skater captivated by her grace.  She reread them starting from the earliest, taking a sip each time a particular phrase made her scoff or sneer.  As soon as she finished the first letter, she realized she would have to lower her standards a bit; Yakov Feltsman was a long-winded man, but he had never been one for eloquence.

With one more sip she tossed the letter onto the embers; her glass was was raised in a parting salute as she watched the paper burn.  The rest of the box was disposed of in a similar fashion.  That courtship letter was the first of a staggering amount, and Lilia could see how her younger self might have been charmed by the tenacity of their numbers, if not their form.  She even remembered reading certain letters for the first time, and ghosts of the emotions they had elicited.  But nostalgia was not a binding force, and each went into the grate without regret.

The final envelope, however, was different from the rest.  The paper had aged visibly, but still looked far newer than the others before it.  It wasn’t postmarked, or even properly addressed; the only writing on it was Lilia’s name, centered on the front.  On the back, the flap showed no sign of having ever been opened.  That inelegant scrawl was Yakov’s, but only that much was certain.  She took a long, dubious gulp of wine and slid her finger under the seal.

The header was dated right before all the paperwork had been finished, when Lilia left behind the home she and Yakov had shared for years.

 _Lilia,_ it began, _I saw this box while the movers were taking a break, and I was too weak to resist checking if it contained what I thought it did._

She put her glass down by the third line and, halfway through, lowered her hands to still a shake that couldn’t be attributed to alcohol.  Each sentence was read with full attention to detail, each word analyzed for every subtlety they could disclose.  Yakov never did hit the level of “eloquent,” but there was the barest hint of poetry in the words, as if he wrote from the heart with no concern about the image they betrayed.

At the end of the letter, Lilia finally let herself cry.  That much was her right, if nothing else.

When her tears stopped, she folded the paper with precision and tucked it back into the envelope.  Her hand hesitated only for a moment before letting the flames take it as they had the rest.  

The wine glass was empty.  After brief consideration, she refilled it a bit higher than what was proper and made a silent toast to the White Nights.

\---

At the practice rink a week later, Lilia announced, “Yuri found the box while you were moving last summer.”  Her tone possessed the same indifference one might use to remark on a slight change in the weather.

“Box?”  Just after the question left his mouth, Yakov scowled in understanding and made an uncomfortable noise.  He glanced sideways to find Lilia’s severe features impassive.  She said nothing.  “And?” he prodded, staring back at the ice in front of them.

“I forgot about it until the solstice last week,” she replied without a hint of redress.  “But I spent the evening by the fireplace watching each letter burn to ashes.”

Yakov stewed, as if choosing his words carefully.  “Did you read the last one?”

“I did.”  A shallow, measured breath.  “And I burnt it along with the rest.”

The only sound around them came from the skaters’ chatter and blades colliding with the ice.  

“Good,” he grumbled at last.

Yuri glided close on a spread eagle and Lilia made a sharp remark about keeping his chest open.  “Do you still have that bottle of Burgundy I sent you?” she inquired once the boy was out of earshot.

“Yes--Georgi!  Arm position!”  He huffed and shook his head.  “I never opened it.”

“You should at some point.  It’s a fine vintage.”

“I broke the glasses as soon as the delivery boy left,” he admitted, almost sheepishly.  “Georgi!  What did I just say about your arms?!”

Few people could make Lilia smile with regularity, but Yakov Feltsman could manage it every so often.

\---

_Lilia,_

_I saw this box while the movers were taking a break, and I was too weak to resist checking if it contained what I thought it did.  I was right, so I took it, intending to do God knows what, maybe steal it as if I could steal back the years we spent together._

_I reread everything, and I’m ashamed of my younger self for writing all those letters to a girl just because I thought she danced beautifully and mistook it for love._

_Knowing you, even if this box makes it back into your belongings like planned, you may just burn it and its contents whole without ever opening it again.  But if you do, and if you read this letter before tossing it into the flames like the rest, know these three things:_

_My third greatest of act of foolishness was courting you._

_My second most foolish act was thinking marriage was like framing a photograph, when in reality it was much more complicated and took much more care than that._

_My greatest folly was thinking I could save our marriage by fixing some imaginary problem, when in the truth the problem was with myself._

_I was years your senior, but I was still too young, too inexperienced to know what it meant to give my life to someone, to understand love and the many forms it takes.  Even if I think I understand now, it’s far too late.  We’ve exchanged too many hurts between us to try and go back._

_There is so much I regret, but I will not ask for your forgiveness.  You forgive no one who has truly, deeply wronged you.  I was arrogant to think I’d never have that wrath turned upon me, but I always admired that about you, your conviction and resolve in every choice you made.  I would not ask for that part of you to change._

_Instead, there is something else I wish to say.  Though this may be another great act of foolishness, I am convinced there was a time when we truly did love each other, when we each thought the world was a better place just because the other was in it.  I remember all those times during the White Nights when we both had work or practice or both the next day, but stayed awake until twilight’s end just because we could, and just because we could do it together._

_I will cherish those times always, and in the twilight hours of the White Nights, I will think of you._

_Thank you my flower, my gladiolus.  I wish you well._

_Yakov_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I was working on another work entirely when I discovered by chance that I really, really love writing Lilia. When I got the image of her finding old love letters from Yakov and burning them, I got really attached to the idea and ran with it. I pictured her doing this with a glass of wine in hand, and… well, things progressed quickly from there.
> 
> Yakov’s final letter was difficult to write, but I wanted to portray these two as having come to terms with their failed relationship, and being able to be truthful to each other about it. I’d imagine they’d still remain separated, but that later they might split a bottle of wine on the anniversary of their divorce. Yuri thinks they’re crazy, but they do all right.


End file.
